Dust Ball - D2

My first lesson was to engage the brain before the weapon. Another career opposed me at the slim age of twelve, just as I'd started my journey. It was foolish to even try. I was absent-minded yet deadly. Everything about my existence back then was about proof of being; I was always trying to ensure my breathing was justified enough by success in combat. To be that vicious, that combative, at such a young age is what caused that very career to overwhelm me. I was naïve to believe I had a chance. I see that now. I had to control my emotions in order to achieve victory. So, I spent that year figuring out why I was so explosive, all the while nursing the broken bones she'd given me. Everything I had was enough. Mother and father were affluent, then, and I had all the friends in the world. I quickly realised it was fear of losing that blinded me, and what continued to crippled me until I learned how to hone it.

I've always been a strong kid. I've trained since I can remember. Why? Well, it would be hilarious if the victorious had to justify itself to the defeated. I don't answer to anybody. I do as I please and I please myself alone. None others are involved in my thought processes. I'm closed off, guarded, and I don't plan on letting anybody into those barriers. I'm strong. I'm fast. I'm everything I need to be in order to win. But, it doesn't mean I don't envy the world around me that moves along as though the Games is just a by-product of our District. People are starting to forget what it means. They've been cuddled by the comfort of careers for too long, so much so that fewer are becoming them. I'll prove them all wrong.

I was there the day they announced our new roles in the District Square. My family are, or were, devout miners. Even I'd spent the weekdays working in the upper mines and factories. Now, waste. The pessimist complains about the smell, the optimist waits for it to pass, but the realist takes the smell away. While it's not reputable work, is it not fitting that those who are the strongest, and let's face it District Two are, should be the ones to find ingenious ways of reducing waste and sewage. There are those in the District that despise the decision. Some deserved it. Me, I'm pragmatic. If there is a solution to a problem, I will find it. So, while my family was renowned for their contributions to the mines, I kickstarted the push into waste. What do you mean, I'm only seventeen? If I've been old enough to fight in an arena to the death for 5 years, then I can spearhead ascent into the echelons of a trash bag society...

It's a two-pronged attack. While I know my goal is to volunteer for the Games and supply my family with a new means of living, now that the Capitol has taken our old one, I also know that there's hundreds of other kids wanting to do exactly the same. After all, to be prepared against a surprise is to be trained, but to prepare for a surprise is to be wise. As I've said, age isn't a limiting factor to me. I will be the best one day, and to be that I need to think of all angles. Something my parents, in their hubris, failed to do. Because of their failure, I wasn't able to progress as efficiently as possible. It's not something I wished to happen, or wish to happen for my children, so I've learned to be ready for anything at all, at all times.

But it's not the only dichotomy I use. Sometimes I'm a fox, and sometimes I'm a lion. It's about knowing when to deploy each. I can be sweet, to some. Whether it's real or not, I decide at the time. I'm impulsive with my emotions, so I don't let anybody see them. I only present to people what I want them to see, and in that regard, I am defensive. I've been told it's never my fault. It's always my way or else. I'd agree. As the studied efficiency-connoisseur I would say I'm the most qualified to decide on things.

I train every day for the Hunger Games. The real reason is because failing to prepare is to be prepared to fail. I've read up on sword combat forms. I know combat marks. I've fought with some of the most skilled trainers in the District. To me, the dance begins the second I see somebody, not when combat begins. The duel of blades is a constantly switching monopoly on somebody's mind. Factor in their attacks, and perform your own dance, until blood strikes the ceiling and victory belongs to somebody again. I'm not undefeated. I've had my fair share of losses, but when I turn eighteen I will be in the Hunger Games that year, whether they like it or not. I'd do anything to reach onto the stage. I'd face anyone. Not for any person in my life but myself. If it happens to benefit my family, that's all when and good, but it'll be me who lives in the Victor's Village.

I've heard that there will be a tournament in the District, soon. My aim isn't to win. The real contest is the Hunger Games. Instead, I plan to turn up and assess my competition. I'm using it as an opportunity to revel in the violence and the tactics until my grin is permanent. I know I won't lose any limbs, or an eye, I'm too good for all that. Could I die? Maybe. But I won't. I've trained for far too long to be thrown down now. The gauntlet itself is thrown, and I will ensure all that watch know that I am the victor no matter the result. To win by default is no victory. To lose because you are the best makes no sense. To survive but be known as the superior? That is better than winning itself.

Still. As brutal and gruesome as my life has been due to all the training, the fighting, the working, I harbour the biggest grudge to the Capitol. Limitations are not something I suffer well, and the biggest limitation on my life is not being able to dedicate my life to my craft. Having to work in a mandated role instead of the one I love is more tiring than I can describe. I'll fight that for as long as I can, until I get the opportunity to change it for myself. After all, if you don't like it you should change it, if it isn't within your power to change it, change your attitude about it. If your attitude can't change, stab the system that limits you.